The Chrysanthemum and the Rose

by DJ Clawson

This is story 9 in the series that started with "A Bit of Advice." You might want to click on my author profile and start with the first one at this point.

Otherwise, welcome back readers! This story is a bit longer than previous ones and my personal favorite, though Knights of Derbyshire comes close. This story has a long sidetrack into Japan in the second half of the story, but as that means lots of Mugen and lots of Georgie fighting, I don't think many readers will object.

I've told by my beta (Brandy) to warn you that the Japanese sections, while not actually in Japanese, introduce a lot of names/titles/concepts. No, you will not have to memorize a glossary, but I'll occasionally leave notes at the bottom of chapters to add some historical commentary. Also, if any reader is an expert on forms of address in late Tokugawa Japan, please PM or email me, as I need your help to double-check things.

Last time in our series, (spoilers ahead) Geoffrey Darcy finished college and married Georgiana Bingley, though not necessarily in that order. About 8 months later (whoops) their daughter Alison was born. Charles Bingley III (Georgie's brother) left to do the Grand Tour of Europe, and Isabel Wickham met an American suitor named Mr. Franklin.

About a year has passed now (it's 1828), and you'll pick up where all of characters now stand in the next few chapters. This prologue opens the story in 1808, in a flashback from the POV of Miyoshi Shiro, a character from Left to Follow.

As always, you can learn more, find news and updates, and find out how to pre-order the first book in this series at my forums:

laughingman . web . aplus. net / phpbb/ index . php

Otherwise, enjoy!

Chapter 1 – The Wanderer (Prologue)

1808 (Bunka 5)

Miyoshi Shiro did not linger on the outskirts of town. He left as soon as the deed was done, a day later than his "official" public departure. It was the dead of night, but the moon was full and he could see well enough despite his lack of knowledge of the area.

After a day of traveling through the woods, he slowed his pace and returned to the road. The day previous it was still wet, but by now the heat had dried everything and the long road returned to its regular self. By midday his hakama was covered in kicked up sand and his straw sandals needed repair.

He turned off the beaten path again and found a stream easily enough. He did not remove either of his swords as he waded in up to his ankles, letting it cool his feet as he repaired his sandals, weeding the straw back together and knotting it elaborately enough to hold up until he could replace them properly.

"I can see you," he said as he returned to the shore and slipped back into his sandals. "Thief."

"Oi, how do you know I'm a thief?"

"I saw you rob those men."

"They said I was robbing them because they lost, fair and square."

"You changed the dice."

"Heh. You caught that, did you? Clever samurai."

It was the convict from the inn. Usually a rural inn was populated by colorful characters, though that generally amounted to drunks and disgraced ronin, and that night there were any number of them, taking shelter from the sudden downpour. Even the magistrate lowered himself to such common company to escape the rain. This man, however, Miyoshi had noticed. He called attention to himself. Most convicts who had escaped a death sentence tried to hide their tattooed limbs, but the thief wore nothing on his wrists or legs that could have so easily hidden them. His hair was wild and not properly shaved, his undoubtedly illegal sword at his side, he practically begged comers to question his presence, but that was not what Miyoshi was there to do.

"I didn't stick around," the thief said. He'd seated himself on the rock by the waterfall, his sword dangling off his side by the strap. "They might have blamed me for the murder."

Miyoshi said nothing, and went back to ignoring him. He only took a step before the thief appeared in front of him. How did he move so fast?

"So I've thought about it."

"Thought about what?"

"You're subtle, being seen leaving a day before someone took the magistrate's head, but not subtle enough for a ninja. And your clothes are too fine for a ronin or a yojimbo. Someone must have wanted him dead, but not enough to bring him to trial and see it out legally. The daimyo here doesn't have the audacity to do such a thing, so it must be someone high up who ordered the killing. Maybe the shogun himself."

In the many katas he'd so carefully studied, Miyoshi had not excluded the art of drawing the sword. He could do it quietly, or gracefully, with flair – or to kill before it was even fully drawn. Steel only met steel, as the thief had done the same.

"Oi, so you have a temper, too," the thief said. "Or just real cold-blooded."

Miyoshi freed himself from their sword lock and stepped back into proper stance. "I have no reason to kill you."

"Ha! You have plenty!" The thief laughed. He remained seemingly at ease, even though his blade was drawn. "I've insulted your honor, I've drawn a sword I have no right to carry, I've interrupted the work of a government assassin – "

"I am offering you your life."

"I don't recall giving it to you in the first place, samurai," he said with a wicked grin and made a mad dash in Miyoshi's direction. He barely had time to block and strike, but the thief was already gone. He was back on the rock behind him. "Faster, samurai!"

Miyoshi did move fast. He knew the thief was going to jump away again, and he was ready this time, but the thief ducked to the ground so much as to put himself with a hand on the ground, swiping with the other. He not only had speed, but incredible adaptability. Miyoshi frowned; he could not recall an opponent like him.

None of his moves worked, even the most complex. Every time an opening appeared, it proved just a phantom, because the thief was blocking, or gone, or swiping elsewhere. Miyoshi found himself grunting in frustration. Finally he backed away.

"Don't want to play?"

He raised his blade. No, he did not want to play, but the thief did. He thought about it. He had provided openings, accidentally, and the thief had either missed them or chose not to take them. Why would he do the latter? A good swordfight was over in one move. He lowered his blade again. An upperhand cut would kill the thief, but it would give him a solid opening. He could parry, or he could take it, and kill Miyoshi.

The thief didn't take it. He did parry, with his geta, which appeared to be reinforced by steel on the bottom. He kicked Miyoshi's sword down and then out of his hands. "Get it."

Miyoshi listened to him, but when he retrieved his blade, he replaced it carefully back into the case. "Do you want to fight me or not?"

"How stupid can you be?"

He grunted. "I mean, do you want to kill me or not?"

"Why would I want to kill you?"

"Then there's no reason for this."

"Maybe I just like fighting."

Miyoshi looked him in the eyes. He was serious. "You're insane."

"Or I want to have fun before I die. Either way."

"That's not a reason to wield a sword!"

"It is for me," he said, replacing his own blade. "Sa! Samurai, so serious." He kicked up the dust in front of him. "Fine. I don't have to play with you, though I would have paid for a bathhouse for you in return."

Despite his best intentions, he said, "You would have?"

The thief grinned. "I stole all that money, didn't I?"

The inn by the hot spring was not terribly expensive, but apparently everyone had had enough of being wet, because it was deserted, especially by night. The owner lit lamps for them as they sat in the water with their backs against the rocks.

Miyoshi certainly could have paid his way, but the thief insisted. "I like spending money more than having it."

"A wife wouldn't put up with that."

"Ha! I'd never let myself be tied down like that, anyway." The thief swam forward into the deeper water, and dunked his head, only to emerge screaming, "Sa! It's hot."

Miyoshi laughed as the thief paddled back to him. "What did you expect it to be?"

"So you can talk."

Most of the time, Miyoshi was silent. "Yes."

"Ask me a question, then."

"What did you do?"

He meant, of course, the rings. Six blue ring tattoos for six counts. The thief raised his hands up out of the water and looked at them. "I don't know. Not for every one. Something to do with shipping. Sa, who cares? I was twelve. I don't remember such things."

Miyoshi crossed his arms. "It's amazing you're still alive."

"I don't care how long I live my life, as long as no one tells me how to live it."

The thief was older than him, by at least a few years. Miyoshi could tell later that night as he felt the lines of the thief's body, with all of the scarring. The thief had been on the run most of his life, if not all of it. It didn't seem to bother him. He laughed off all serious commentary, and then there was no commentary. There was just a thief with very skilled hands, among other things, and a samurai aware only now of how unimportant and lonely he was just a day before.

Miyoshi rose like everyone else, with the sun, and was polishing his blade on the porch of the inn when the thief finally stumbled out, still disheveled.

"I don't know your name."

"What makes you think I have one?"

Miyoshi turned his blade to the side, letting the morning light shine on it and catch any imperfections in his cleaning. "You're too distinct for that. Someone must have named you."

"People call me things, but I wouldn't want to call them names," the thief said with a laugh. "Mugen."

"Mugen," he repeated. "What does that mean? Endless dreamer?"

"Something like that, I think." 'Mugen' laid back on the wooden porch, dangling a foot over the edge. "You must have an important name. Especially for a Fuma clan member."

He did wear his clan's Mon, but it was usually covered by his haori jacket, which was more anonymous. "Miyoshi Shiro."

"So now we have something to say at embarrassing moments."

Miyoshi smiled. "I suppose."

Miyoshi was on his way back to Edo; Mugen the thief had no set agenda. He would not admit to having any idea of a home. His life mimicked his fighting style: unpredictable, adaptable, and always in motion. Miyoshi practiced with him using bamboo. He had been trained by the best men in Edo, raised to be a great warrior even in peacetime, and his only outlet for his own desire to use his training was as an assassin. The shogun had found quick work for him, and rarely did his opponents even get a chance to raise their blades, much less put up a good fight. Mugen was refreshing. He was free of honor and duty. His only care was where his next meal was going to come from, and he usually managed. He was a good fisherman.

Mugen was roasting their dinner on a stick skewer when Miyoshi stood up, his hand on his blade. "It's the monk from the road passing by. The one who's been following us."

"What kind of samurai are you? That's no monk."

It did appear to be. The man walked slowly in purple robes, with his side sash and blackened bowl-shaped hat that blocked most of his head and face from the world. He stopped at the sound of Mugen's voice.

"Monk!" Miyoshi said. "Identify yourself or be gone."

"It's not worth it," Mugen said, still tending to their meal, his back to the monk. "You won't get the jump on me anyway."

"Call your samurai off."

"He's not my samurai."

Miyoshi tightened his hand around the hilt of his blade, but did step back, allowing the monk to step off the road and through the bushes to their resting spot. He removed his wide straw hat to reveal not a shaved monk's head but a Chinese queue, with the long ponytail tied around his head so as not to hang down. From deep within his robes, which proved to be a false covering, he removed a blade with a similar hilt to Mugen's. He tossed aside the staff and the last of his costume. "Stay out of this," he said to Miyoshi.

Mugen still did not get up, or face his apparent opponent. "Do as he says." Miyoshi stepped back again, but still did not entirely loosen his guard.

"Moo Shin," the Chinese said, "Don't disgrace the Master further by refusing me."

"You haven't made a request."

"You know what I want."

Mugen removed the second fish from the fire, and set it down on the plate. "It isn't mine to give."

"You will tell me the secret of San Soo, you disgraceful, hairy, disrespectful barbarian!" the Chinese shouted. "You never should have gotten it!"

"I never asked for it," Mugen said calmly.

"I will fight you for it."

"Bai, you will have to kill me," he said. Mugen was speaking in a more serious voice than Miyoshi had ever heard from him. "And then the secret of Dim Mak will die with me."

Dim Mak. Death Touch. Miyoshi knew that much. It was an old legend from the continent.

"I have decided," the Chinese 'Bai' said, "that it would be better for the world to lose great wisdom than for scum like you to have it!"

Bai charged much faster than Miyoshi could react, but Mugen merely tumbled forward, cartwheeling back to his feet and drawing his sword. But by now Miyoshi had time to cross blades with the Chinese fighter. "You are in the Pure Land," he said, "and you cannot go about killing its residents and insulting its people! You will show proper respect!"

"Respect for me?" Mugen said. "You kid yourself. No one has respect for me."

"Mugen – "

"Shiro, please."

Miyoshi withdrew, but did not sheath his sword. This was not his fight; Mugen made that clear enough. The only one interested in fighting seemed to be Bai. Would he stand by and let his friend be slaughtered? Was this foreigner capable of it?

"I don't want to fight you," Mugen said, "but I will if I have to. Master Hyuu said you would come after me."

"He thought so highly of me?"

"He didn't specify. I think you were all the same to him."

It had the desired effect, if that was truly what Mugen desired. Bai charged, and Mugen deflected, but didn't make a serious attempt at a counterstrike. He only saved himself, and just barely. They both moved so fast it was hard to even watch them. Jinjitsu was all linear, but they were beyond that. They were in every possible direction. Finally, Miyoshi knew where Mugen had trained. China. No wonder he wouldn't admit it.

Mugen's cry bought him back to reality. Their fight had progressed to the water, and Mugen fell back against the rock wall where the water trickled down, clutching his right arm.

"Mugen!"

"Not your fight," he growled, and tumbled out of the way in just enough time so that Bai only hit stone and not flesh. "Give me that."

"You shit, you don't deserve anything!" Bai cried, and swung again. Another near miss. He never stopped, even though they were both breathing heavy. He was throwing all he had into the fight. "I'll let you live if you tell me!"

"You won't understand it, so I won't waste my breath."

Mugen was using both arms again. He needed the left to balance himself and the right to swing, but his right was bleeding and his left was bruised from blocking the handle of Bai's blade. Miyoshi reluctantly restricted himself to watching; had he asked, Mugen would have done the same. Still, it was hard to watch.

Bai wasn't a better fighter. He was providing openings. Miyoshi knew enough about Mugen to know he could take them, but he let them all pass. He did not make a serious attempt at offense, just defense. From his expression, he was not drawing it out for fun. He truly didn't want to fight. Or was it something else? What was he waiting for?

It was terrible to watch Bai raise his blade and bash Mugen between the eyes with the metal hilt when his stab had failed. Mugen stumbled back into the stream, and bent on one knee, barely holding himself up with his sword in the mud.

"Are you ready to give it up now?"

Mugen looked up at the opponent towering over him. From Miyoshi's perspective, many feet away, he looked dazed, his face red and swollen. He spit out a little blood and wiped his mouth. "I – see it now." He blinked in the sunlight. "Yes. I'll show it to you."

"You'll tell me the secret behind San Soo?"

Mugen did not respond. His face was expressionless as he raised his body but not his sword, letting it drag in the water. He then tightened his grip and in a burst of energy charged at Bai, the water splashing in a wave from his blade tip – or it seemed that way, but something about it seemed unnatural as he raised it, and a wall of water hit Bai with Mugen's blade as he struck upwards, making what appeared to be a vertical cut from his torso to his head as he fell back.Mugen landed, just barely, on his feet from a complete backflip, and the water hit him hard. Too hard, and he collapsed.

"Mugen!" Miyoshi nearly trampled over Bai to get to his friend, lifting him out of the water. Mugen had lost all color, and his limbs were shaking, but he was alive. "Mugen."

"My head hurts," Mugen said, and coughed up blood. "Like a bitch. A mean one." With that, he gasped and went still in Miyoshi's arms.

Miyoshi picked him up, cradling him. He put Mugen's sword back in its scabbard and would not have concerned himself with Bai's body at all except that he nearly tripped over it. Aside from a small cut along his nose, there was not a mark on Bai.

The next village was large enough to have a temple, and there, a real priest tended to Mugen as Miyoshi dutifully watched over him. Mugen slept for two days before waking, and from that, had a remarkable recovery, beginning with his appetite. He was finishing off the stocks as if his life depended upon it, which was about the only thing about him that seemed normal. His forehead was swollen and bruised, and he spoke no words except requests for help and food.

Miyoshi sat by him patiently, asking nothing. It was a week before Mugen finally broke the silence with, "I didn't think it was fair, to kill him the regular way." He chuckled painfully. "I didn't do it for him, though. Chen Bai was always a bastard. I did it for Master Hyuu." He put down the now-empty rice bowl. "It was so hard. I didn't think I'd make it. I'd never done it before."

"The secret of San Soo?"

"So you were listening? Heh. Yes. I understand it, but I've never been able to do it. I don't know if I could do it again."

Miyoshi had heard legends of men who killed with their ki energy, with a single touch or move. "Why did a Chinese sensei give the secret to a foreigner, especially a Japanese one?"

"He told me I was the only one capable of learning it before he died," he said. "A very dubious honor, eh?"

Miyoshi would be honored to learn an ancient secret, passed down only to him based on raw talent. Mugen felt differently. He carried it around like a weight. Was that what made him so restless? Was it why he felt cursed to wander the land, without worth or occupation? When a samurai failed at something, they killed themselves. He could not imagine Mugen doing such a thing, or being able to. "Are you really the last person who knows this secret?"

"Yes. Until I tell someone else."

Miyoshi knew better than to ask. Instead he said, "You should take students."

"Sa! Can you see me doing such a thing? Having a school and uniforms? Throw in a wife and kids while you're at it."

No, he could not imagine that. "You'll have to do it on your own terms, then. Just like you do everything else."

This time, Mugen managed a weak smile. "Perhaps."

Mugen was a study in contradictions: reliable and unreliable at the same time. He traveled only as far as the outskirts of Edo, and then they parted with more pain than they had expected, or at least Miyoshi did.

That was not the end of their relationship. Mugen crossed paths with him on missions, and they enjoyed the time afterwards, when the deed was done and Miyoshi had some time before he had to report back. When he chose to end his life, Mugen did not support him in the idea, but supported him in escaping the shogun's samurai to pursue the idea. He did not follow him all the way north, as Miyoshi was turned away at every daimyo's castle. The shogun had given orders that no one should give him a place to commit seppuku, or help doing it honorably, upon pain of death, and so he kept going until, at last, he came to a village of despicable Ainu and their foreigner guests.

Mugen thought him changed when they met again, on the road to Nagasaki. As usual, he did not relent from expressing his opinions. "Those Ainu, they taught you your samurai honor was bullshit, did they not?"

"Not entirely."

Mugen huffed and sat down beside him. "They still did a job on you, anyway."

"Do you like it?"

"You're a little more tolerable now, hai."

Miyoshi had failed his master, the shogun. For that, he deserved death, and he dared to deserve a better death than the one his master decreed for him. "My death done my way," he tried to explain to Mugen, but Mugen refused to understand. He had to give the honor of taking his head to Brian Maddox, the limping barbarian, instead. Miyoshi had found over the past year that despite his many shortcomings and unrighteous birth he was an honorable man, but he was not a countryman, and he was not Mugen.

For the first time in two years, Miyoshi did not look forward to his death. He clenched himself into a ball and Mugen held him, but said nothing. In the morning, after giving away his long sword and the endless horror of an unending night, he rose to wash himself to find Mugen already up and sitting on the porch. In the room beside them, the foreigners had not yet risen.

"Did you finish your death poem?" Mugen said, even though Miyoshi had never expressed an interest in writing one. He was not to die in battle. He was to die to restore his honor.

"Should I have written one, do you think?"

"If I knew for sure when I was going to die, I would not spend the night before writing poetry," he said.

"How would you spend it? Getting drunk? Gambling? With a whore?"

Mugen just said, "Like we spent last night."

Miyoshi, clothed all in traditional white, knelt behind him and hugged him tightly. Mugen choked out a sob. Miyoshi waited until he was finished, and Mugen wiped his face on his sleeve.

It was time to go. The Maddoxes would be up soon.

"I've been there. Nirai Kanai."

"What?"

"The pathway to the Other World. I was there twice, but I came back. It's not so bad, I suppose, unless you get unlucky and your ancestors turn out to be jerks."

Miyoshi laughed, and Mugen did the same. That was Mugen's parting gift to him; it made it possible to go.

Chapter 2 – The Wayward Bride

Notes: (they will not always be this long)

Bunka 5 is the old Japanese date for 1808. The first half of the 1800's are the middle Tokugawa Period, named after the shogun dynasty's family name, Tokugawa. Founded by Tokugawa Ieyasu in 1603, the reign of this family would last until 1867, when Emperor Meiji was restored to the throne and Japan opened to foreigners.

Also known as the Edo period, the Tokugawa reign brought two hundred years of peace to Japan with a formalized system of rule under the shogun and the daimyos (nobles). The emperor was of little political significance but was still in place. Japan was demilitarized except for daimyo and their attendant samurai, and the country was closed to all foreigners except in Nagasaki, and then only the Dutch East India Company and certain Chinese traders were permitted.

Towards the end of the period, the population explosion amount the peasantry and the lack of purpose of the samurai warrior class (who were not permitted to have other occupations and received a government stipend) meant inflation and increasing lawlessness among the bankrupt samurai.

Nirai Kanai refers to the Okinawan afterlife. Ryukyu (later Okinawa and the islands) was originally an independent kingdom that was annexed by Emperor Meiji at the end of the 1800's. Mugen's references to Ryukyuan culture indicate he has either traveled there or is from there.

San Soo refers to a lesser-known form of Chinese martial arts (as opposed to Shaolin). Its practices are partially fictionalized in this story.

Sa! - basically means "Shit!"

Mon - the insignia of a particular samurai clan, appearing in white on the shoulders of a jacket.

To learn more, search Wikipedia for "Edo Period" or "Tokugawa Shogunate."